


Paper Hats

by kate_the_reader



Series: Bob [8]
Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Meeting the Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 13:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13148004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader
Summary: Bob has never cared that much about Christmas. But then Dave asks him to come with him to meet his family.





	Paper Hats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deinvati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/gifts), [oceaxe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/gifts).



> I wrote this after Christmas Eve dinner and the whole of Christmas Day, and I gift it to Deinvati and Oceaxe, who also love Bob. Thank you, dear friends.

Bob has never cared that much about Christmas. It’s for little kids. Kids whose mothers get out of bed before they do, who’re there when they get in from school, who make the tea every night, and turn out the bedroom light. It was okay when his Nan was alive, with a roast chicken and crackers and paper hats that slipped down over your eyes.

Christmas isn’t for guys hanging round the Speeler, even if someone sometimes put up a bit of tinsel. The streets looked nice, all the lights, but it wasn’t a special day. It was boring, mostly.

So when Dave says one evening: “What do you usually do at Christmas?” he shrugs.

“Nothing much. Watch telly. Why? What do you do?”

“I go back up north. My sister does Christmas now my mum and dad are getting on. She’s got three kids.” He smiles at the memories. “Nothing fancy. Eat too much, drink a bit more than I should.”

Bob’s never met Dave’s family. Why would he have? They all still live in Bolton — his mum and dad, his sister and brother-in-law and their kids. Dave texts with his sister, talks to his mum and dad on the phone most Sundays, but he hasn’t suggested taking Bob to meet them.

“What do you want to do this year then?” 

Bob doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if Dave has told his family about him, about them. “I don’t know. What do I know about Christmas?” Sometimes Dave expects him to make decisions about things he knows nothing about, to want things he has never had to choose before. Sometimes it’s fun, like in Spain, deciding what to eat when everything was new and there was no wrong answer.

“It’s okay, love. Don’t worry.” Dave can tell when he gets overwhelmed by these kinds of questions, even if Bob thinks he hides it quite well.

After dinner, when Bob is washing up and Dave is putting away the leftovers and wiping the counters, Dave says: “We don’t have to go to Bolton, you know.”

“But do you want to?”

“I always have, but I was on my own.”

“And you don’t want to take me?” He doesn’t look at Dave, concentrating on scrubbing the sausage pan. “It’s okay. You can go. I don’t mind.”

Dave comes over to the sink and takes Bob by the shoulder, forcing him to turn to face him. He’s dripping water on the floor, but Dave doesn’t seem to notice that.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant, I went there because I was on my own down here. But now I’m not. So I want to do what you would like.”

“Oh. But I don’t know. Don’t you want to see your family? Isn’t that what people do? Go and see their families? But you don’t want all the … questions. I understand. I’ll be alright here.”

“Do you think I’m ashamed of you? That I’m hiding you?”

“Aren’t you? Why wouldn’t you?” Bob turns back to the sink, but the dishes are done. He pulls out the plug, dries his hands and goes over to the sofa and picks up the TV remote. Dave is still busy, putting things away. He switches on the kettle to make tea. Bob is pretending to watch the news. Dave brings the tea and sits down and they watch in silence. When the news is over, Dave mutes the sound.

“I think I really messed this up,” he says quietly, not looking at Bob. “I admit I haven’t told my mum and dad about you. I’ve told my sister though. She wants to meet you. I just thought … I think my mum will really like you. Of course she will. My dad … He’s quiet. They’re a bit old-fashioned. We don’t talk about … But I thought that when they meet you, they’ll see. They’ll like you. But I didn’t just want to say: ‘It’s Christmas, you have to come to Bolton and meet my whole family all at once’.”

Bob snorts a laugh at that.

“I didn’t explain. I’m sorry. I do want them to meet you, but only when you want to.”

“Can I think about it?” says Bob.

“Of course you can, love.”

***

So he does. He thinks about meeting Dave’s family. His mum, surely she’s kind, just like Dave. His dad might be a bit harder, even though Dave says he was a softy of a dad when he was little. And Dave told him his sister, Moira, helped him when his wife left him, she probably understands. They were close as kids, he says. He has no idea what to expect about her husband.

But he can’t picture himself in their home at Christmas. In the sitting room, with a tree in the front window, all lit up. Do people still wear paper hats from crackers and laugh at the silly jokes inside?

Will he feel like an outsider? He’ll have Dave, but what will they think of him? What will his sister tell her kids about him? 

He wants to do what will make Dave happy. Surely that’s seeing his family?

Dave’s already home when he gets in, after a run out to the airport taking a group of girls going off to Thailand for their holidays. Dave comes out to the hall where Bob is taking off his jacket. “Hello, love. How was your day?”

Bob leans into Dave, resting his forehead against his shoulder; Dave’s arms come up around him.

“I thought about Christmas. We can go see your family.” He looks up at Dave, who has that almost-sad expression.

“Are you sure?” Bob nods. “Thank you, love. You’ll like them, I think. And if you don’t, we’ll come home.”

***

He and Dave go shopping for presents. The most fun is choosing things for the children: two girls and a boy. Dave says the older girl, Emma, really likes building complicated things out of Legos, so they choose a Lego castle. The boy, Jack, is soccer-mad and they get him a soccer goal that he can set up indoors or in the garden. And Sophie is Barbie-crazy, so they get her a set of clothes for the doll.

He goes on his own one lunchtime to buy a present for Dave.

His boss is surprisingly nice about a couple of days off. Some of the other drivers took time off earlier in the year for Eid, so they can cover the Christmas shifts. 

They’re going to drive up in the afternoon of Christmas Eve and stay over till Boxing Day.

“Are you sure it’ll be okay? Your sister won’t mind?”

“Mind what?”

“You know … me. Us.”

“Bob. I wouldn’t have suggested going if I thought they’d ‘mind’ us. I promise you it’ll be fine.”

Bob has to trust Dave, but he can’t help being nervous. He tries not to show it.

And then it’s the day before Christmas and they pack some things in one suitcase and put the presents they’ve already wrapped in carrier bags and drive out of London in Dave’s van. The traffic isn’t too bad, most people left the day before.

***

Moira and Joe live in a nice house with a garden. There _is_ a Christmas tree in the front window, all lit up with coloured lights, shining out into the late afternoon darkness when Dave pulls up outside. He doesn’t open his door, instead he reaches over for Bob’s hand. “Ready, love? I promise it’ll be okay. Joe’s a good bloke, and the kids are great.”

Bob nods, and Dave leans over and kisses him, just as the front door opens and three kids rush out. “Uncle Dave!” Dave gets out and they are all over him. Bob waits a moment before getting out too. He stands by the van. The front door opens again and Dave’s sister comes out.

“Hello, Bob!” she says.

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you,” he says.

“Oh come here, let me give you hug!” And she pulls him into a brief hug. “Dave!”

“Hello, Moira!” Dave hugs her. Bob is getting the things out of the back of the van. “Kids, this is Bob. Bob, Emma, Jack and Sophie.”

“Hello!” they chorus.

“Are those our presents?” says Jack, looking into one of the carrier bags.

“Jack!” says Moira, and everyone laughs and they go into the house.

“Joe’s just out. Someone’s boiler.”

Dave laughs. “That’s why I’m a builder, not a plumber,” he says. “No holiday emergencies.”

“Go and put your things down and then we can have a cup of tea.”

They go up the stairs. The spare room has a double bed.

“Alright, love?”

“Yes. So far!”

Dave pulls him into a hug. Bob tips his head back and kisses him. Dave shut the bedroom door when they came in. Just as well, because there’s a thundering on the stairs and Jack shouts: “Uncle Dave! Mum says come down the tea’s getting cold.”

“Coming!” He kisses Bob again and opens the door.

They’re drinking tea and eating Christmas cake at the kitchen table when Joe gets in. “I could do with a cuppa!” he says. “Alright Dave? You must be Bob?” He shakes Bob’s hand. “Hello.”

“Hope that’s the last boiler. But since I can charge double I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

The telly is on in the next room and there’s a cheerful noise in the house, pop music drifting down the stairs.

“Right!” says Moira, draining her mug, “I need to be getting on with tea.” She stands up.

“Can I help?” says Bob.

“I’m just doing sausages and mash tonight.”

“I can peel the potatoes.”

“Alright, ta.”

He gets up and she hands him the bag of potatoes and a peeler.

“I’m going to get cleaned up,” says Joe, and there’s a shout of “Uncle Dave?” from the sitting room, so Dave goes to see what Jack wants to show him, leaving Bob and Moira in the kitchen. He peels potatoes while she bustles about, putting the tea things in the dishwasher and getting sausages out of the fridge.

“Thank you for having me,” says Bob, concentrating on peeling.

“Oh love,” she says, “Of course. You’ve made our Dave very happy, you know. I’ve been wanting to meet you. He was lonely before you came along, but not anymore.”

Bob has been given so much by being with Dave, but he hasn’t really thought before that the same might be true for Dave. It’s always seemed like Dave was opening his life and inviting Bob in and Bob just settled down. He can feel tears pricking his eyes, and he’s not even chopping onions.

“Right!” says Joe, coming back in. “Who wants a drink? A beer, Bob? Or would you rather have a glass of wine? What do we have, love?”

“A beer, please,” says Bob. The potatoes are done.

“I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay,” says Moira. “Thanks Bob, why don’t you go and sit down now? I’m just going to bung these sausages in the oven and I’ll be right through.”

In the sitting room, Jack is showing Dave something about a computer game on the telly. Bob hands him his beer. “Thanks, love,” says Dave.

Jack looks up. “You called him ‘love’. Is he your boyfriend?”

“Yes, he is,” says Dave. Bob can feel himself blushing.

“Cool,” says Jack. “Ms Oldham at school got married to her girlfriend in the summer. We made them a card.”

“That was nice,” says Dave, looking at Bob over Jack’s head. 

Jack’s gone back to shooting aliens. “Yeah,” he says, “She showed us a picture of the wedding. Die!” he says to the alien on screen. “Will you play with me, Bob? Uncle Dave’s too slow.”

“Too slow, eh? Brat.” Dave ruffles Jack’s hair and stands up so Bob can sit down and pick up a controller.

When they’ve both killed plenty of aliens, Jack says: “Do you want to play Fifa now?”

“Jack!” says Moira, “Leave him in peace. Sorry about that,” she says to Bob. “Anyway, go and call your sisters to set the table and wash your hands, it’s nearly time for tea.”

There’s lots of cheerful chatter at tea, so Bob doesn’t have to say much. He and Dave are sitting together on one side of the table with the children opposite. Dave takes his hand under the table and gives it a squeeze. When they’re finished the children clear the plates and Joe pours more wine.

“Dave told us you’re a minicab driver, Bob. You must get all sorts.”

“Tell them about that one guy, Bob,” Dave says, so Bob tells the story that had made Dave laugh and it makes them laugh as well. Joe gets up and puts the kettle on and Moira brings a tin of mince pies to the table. 

Jack comes back in his pyjamas. “Do you want to play Fifa now, Bob?”

“You don’t have to you know, Bob,” says Moira, laughing, but Bob gets up.

“Awesome!” says Jack, running ahead into the sitting room. He beats Bob 2-1, and goes reluctantly to bed, bribed with the promise that the sooner he goes, the sooner Santa can bring their presents. Emma goes upstairs too and Moira brings Bob a cup of tea and a mince pie, “Since you missed out”.

Dave sits next to him on the sofa.

When it is quiet upstairs, Joe says: “Well, this Santa better go and get the presents. Bob follows him to the stairs. “Thanks for being so patient with Jack,” says Joe. “Tell him ‘no’ when you’ve had enough, though.”

“It’s okay,” says Bob, “I like playing with him.” He goes into their bedroom to get the carrier bags of presents. One is rather heavy, it’s the one with Dave’s present in it. 

They pile the gifts under the tree, a cheerful heap. The fairy lights are sparkling in the dark window. Bob likes Dave’s family Christmas so far. 

They don’t stay up very much longer. Moira gets up first. “Well, we’ll probably be woken up by 5.30,” she says, “so I’m going to bed when I’ve put their stockings on their beds. Good night, Dave. Good night, Bob. I hope we haven’t tired you out too much.”

“No,” he says, smiling. But he is pretty tired, and he and Dave go upstairs after her.

Bob gets into bed and waits for Dave to come out of the bathroom. He settles and pulls Bob close. “Thank you for coming, love. It’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Everyone’s nice. Thank you for bringing me.” He leans up on his elbow so he can kiss Dave properly, feeling a bit shy, but needing to.

***

Loud whispers on the landing wake Bob up, and then, from the master bedroom, Joe: “Shh, you’ll wake Uncle Dave and Bob up.”

“ _Can_ we go and wake them up?” says Jack.

“No! Don’t be a pest. You can ask Bob to play with you again later, if he wants to.”

Bob settles back against Dave. “Morning, love.” Dave kisses the back of his neck. He turns over and kisses Dave and falls asleep again. 

The sky is light behind the curtains when he wakes up again and he can smell bacon. 

“Merry Christmas, Bob.”

It feels odd in his mouth, but he says it: “Merry Christmas.”

“Right, shall we get up and face the horde?”

They get dressed and go downstairs. Joe is at the cooker frying eggs. “Merry Christmas! One egg or two?”

Bob hesitates. “Better eat a good breakfast, it’s ages to lunch,” says Joe. “Mum and dad go to church first, and then we’ll open presents.”

“Okay, two please. Merry Christmas!”

Dave is making coffee and Moira is peeling potatoes. “Sorry we got up so late,” Bob says to her.

“You didn’t! We just got woken up before dawn. I hope they didn’t wake you? Jack was all for coming and jumping on your bed too.”

“We heard them,” says Dave.

“But we went back to sleep,” says Bob. Dave has made toast as well and they eat eggs and bacon and drink coffee. Joe and Moira have a cup too. The children are chattering to each other in the sitting room.

“Come and say good morning,” Joe calls through and they come running.

“Happy Christmas!”

Jack comes over to Bob and leans against him. “Happy Christmas, Bob.”

“Merry Christmas, Jack.”

“Look what Santa brought!” He shows him a small toy car. “It’s a Lamborghini. Like Vincent Kompany drives!” 

“You’re a Man City supporter?”

“Yeah!”

Dave looks over at Joe. “What happened?”

Joe laughs. “He still comes to Bolton matches with me, but he gave in to the glamour of City.”

Moira stands up. “Right, I have to get on. Mum and dad will be here at 11, and then it’s tea and presents.”

“Bob,” says Jack, “Will you come and play Fifa?”

“I want to help your mum first. I promise to play later.”

“He can’t believe his luck, someone who is willing to play and is actually good enough. He thinks I’m too slow.”

“Okaaaay.” Jack goes back to the sitting room.

“You’re a hit with him, love,” says Dave, collecting the plates and taking them to the dishwasher. “Let Bob and me do the vegetables, Moira.”

“I forget you can cook,” she says. “With pleasure. I’ll get on with the ham and the turkey then.”

“I suppose that leaves the upstairs for me,” says Joe.

The vegetables are done, and Moira has the ham simmering and the turkey ready for the oven when the doorbell rings.

“Granny, Grandpa!” The children rush for the front door.

“Ready, love?” says Dave. Bob isn’t really, but he nods. They’re alone in the kitchen.

“You go and say hello. I’ll wait here.”

Dave gives him a searching look. “Alright.”

He can hear all their voices in the hall, joined by a deep voice and a light soft one.

“Merry Christmas, Mum, Dad.”

“Dave, love, Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, son.”

The children’s excited babble rises again.

“Let them take off their coats!” 

Bob’s standing against the counter. He’s washed his hands. 

Dave comes into the kitchen. “Mum, there someone here for you to meet.”

“You must be Dave’s young man.”

“Mum!”

“What? Moira told me. Hello, Bob, isn’t it?”

Bob steps forward and holds out his hand. “Hello, Mrs Parker.”

“Nonsense, it’s Joan. Merry Christmas, Bob. Lovely to meet you.”

“Very nice to meet you, too … Joan.”

Behind her, he can see Dave exchanging a look with Moira. 

“Why don’t you all go to the sitting room and I’ll make the tea?” Moira shoos them out.

“Come and meet Dave’s dad then, Bob.”

Behind them, Dave says to Moira: “You could have told me!”

Dave’s dad is instantly recognisable: Dave looks just like him, he’s where Dave gets his eyes that Bob loves so much.

“Ernie? This is Bob …” 

Bob sticks out his hand. “Hello, Mr Parker. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Bob. It’s Ernie, mind.” He smiles at Bob, and that’s familiar too. 

Moira and Dave come in with two trays then — tea and Christmas cake. When everyone is settled, Joe says: “I’ll be Santa then, shall I?”

“Fiiiinally,” Jack groans. “We’ve been waiting foreeeeever.”

“Oi, you! Here we go, this one’s for … Emma!” 

Emma’s face lights up when she unwraps a skateboard. “Cool! Thanks Mum, thanks Dad! It’s brilliant!”

Round and round the presents go, Joe making sure everyone gets one before he hands the children their second and third gifts. Bob unwraps a pullover from the family and has to bite his lip so he can say thank you without his voice shaking. Dave squeezes his hand.

Sophie, much quieter than her brother and sister, is thrilled with the new outfit for her Barbie. Bob’s a bit worried Jack might think the soccer goal is a bit silly, seeing how much he loves his video games, but he shouts: “Yes! Awesome!” when he unwraps it and wants to assemble it immediately.

“You’re the builder,” Joe says to Dave. He says it again when Emma unwraps the Lego set.

Bob hopes he got his present for Dave right. 

“Oh, love,” Dave says when he unwraps the recipe book, the Nigel Slater one that Dave looked at in a bookshop. They both like watching his show,

Dave’s dad looks at his son sharply when he overhears.

Bob unwraps a tin of shortbread — “My special recipe, dear,” says Joan.

All the presents are finished. “Oi, Joe!” says Dave, “You forgot one.” 

There isn’t a present, just an envelope. “Oh, it’s for you, Bob. Here you go.”

It’s Dave’s writing on the outside. He tears it open. It’s a card, covered with pictures of dogs, cut out of magazines. He opens it and inside is a folded piece of paper. A certificate.

“Adoption certificate,” it says, “Battersea Dogs’ Home.”

Bob looks at Dave. “It’s for a dog, love. For you.”

“A dog?”

“You can go and meet the dogs and decide which one you want to adopt.”

“A dog for me? For us?” He wishes they were alone, because he might cry, and he wants to kiss Dave. A dog. How did Dave know he has always wanted a dog?

Sort of dimly he hears Moira: “Kids? Come and set the table. Mum, won’t you come and make the gravy? Mine is never as good as yours.”

And Joe: “Dad, shall you and I see if we can put Jack’s goal together for him?”

“What? Oh, yes.”

And just like that they’re left alone.

“How did you know?”

“Oh, love, of course I knew. You told me.”

Bob leans against Dave, blinking to stop the tears he can feel that are about to fall.

“You told me every time we saw a dog. I could see it in your face, love.”

“And I can choose which one I want?”

“Well, within reason. We haven’t got room for a huge dog.”

“How do you know they’ll let me get one?”

“They’ve already been to check the house.”

“What? When?”

“When you were at work.” Dave smiles, kind of in triumph, and Bob grins back. He’s going to get a dog. He could never have imagined a better surprise.

Christmas dinner is delicious, and there _are_ crackers, with paper hats that slip down and everyone groans at the lame jokes, and afterwards they go for a walk, just around the block, Emma skateboarding ahead and not falling once, and Sophie carries her Barbie in her pocket, wearing the new outfit. He and Dave lag a bit behind and he sticks his hand in Dave’s jacket pocket. Back at the house, Jack begs him to kick a ball into his new goal and they do that till he’s breathless and they’re both laughing. 

And then Ernie and Joan say they’ve got to get home. At the door, while Dave talks to his dad, Joan says to Bob: “You look after him. I can see you do.” Bob can’t really say anything, but he nods, and she gives him a hug.

In bed later, Bob asks Dave: “What did your dad say?”

“He said, ‘he’s a good lad, your Bob is.’ And I said, ‘yes, he is’.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually supposed to be about Bob getting a dog. There is another story about the dog.
> 
> Also: are Christmas crackers containing overly large paper crowns, tiny tacky trinkets and very lame jokes just an England and former colonies thing? Update: they are!
> 
> And also, I have NO IDEA if Manchester City captain Vincent Kompany drives a Lamborghini. Bolton is near Manchester, but its football team, Bolton Wanderers, are nowhere in the Manchester teams' league.
> 
> Oh and, the childen are 11, 9 and 7.


End file.
